DUKE 
UNIVERSITY 


LIBRARY 


i  * 

A SKKMON 


DELIVERED 

In  the  Presbyterian  Church, 

SABBATH  EVENING,  NOVEMBER  17th,  185  I 


WILMINGIUN  : 

PttlNIW  II  THE  OFFICE  OF  THE  "pJULY  HLRi  LT". 
MDCCCLV, 


WE  FLOWERS  COLLECTION 


Wilmington,  N.  C.,2d  Dec,  1354. 
Dbar  Sir:— Having  been  appointed  a  Committee,  in  behalf  of  quite  a  respectable  number  of  the 
Yoilng  Men  of  this  town,  to  make  known  nnto  you  the  pleasure  experienced  by  them  in  listening 
to  the  very  able  and  instructive  Sermon  on  the  subject  of  Temperance,  which  you  delivered  on 
Sunday  Evening  the  19th  ultimo,  and  to  request  of  you  a  copy  of  the  same  for  publication  ;  we 
most  earnestly  hope  thot  you  will  not  deny  us  the  gratification  that  we  all  anticipate  in  its  perusal. 
Permit  ua  to  add  our  personal  solicitations  to  those  of  the  Gentlemen  whom  we  represent. 
With  much  respect,  we  are 

Very  Respectfully  yours, 


To  Rev.  M.  B.  Grier, 


J.  II.  PLANNER, 
E.  MURRAY, 
K.  M.  MURC1IIS0N, 
THOS.  R.  CARR, 
W.  P.  ELLIOTT, 
SAML.  A.  SWANN, 
WM.  A.  WALKER, 
JNO.  L.  CANTWELL, 


Committee. 


Wilmington,  N.  C,  December  9th,  1854. 
Gentlemen  of  the  Committee -.—With  many  thanks  for  your  expressions  of  kindness,  1  place  at 
your  disposal  a  copy  of  the  Sermon  you  have  asked  for  publication.    I  assure  you  that  I  will  al- 
ways be  ready  to  lend  my  aid  to  any  scheme  which  will  promote  the  happiness,  or  strengthen  the 
virtuous  purposes  of  young  Men. 

Yours  most  truly. 

M.  B.  GRIER, 

To  Messrs.  Flasnkr,  Murray,  Mi'EChison  and  others  of  the  Committee. 


/ 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2014 


https://archive.org/details/sermontoyoungmen423grie 


SERMON. 

Look  not  then  upon  the  wine  when  it  is  red,  when  it  giveth  his  colour  in  the  cup,  when  it  mer  ■ 
e-th  itself  aright : 

At  the  last  it  biteth  like  a  serpent,  and  stingeth  like  an  adder.    Proverb?,  98d  ch.,  81st  and  Std 

T'lf. 

The  man  who  reaches  to  the  point  in  life  where  the  upward 
step  ceases,  and  the  downward  step  begins — the  line  midway  be- 
tween the  beginning  and  the  close  of  the  three  score  years  and 
ten  which  are  our  allotted  portion  on  the  earth,  must  have  his 
reflections  and  his  memories  much  shaded  by  melancholy — by 
a  sadness  which  comes  with  every  season  of  serious  thought, — 
This  springs  sometimes  from  the  startling  conviction  that  our  life 
like  a  vapour,  is  stealing  silently  but  surely  away  ;  or  that  the 
great  and  noble  purposes  which  we  set  before  ourselves  in  the 
ardour  of  early  youth,  have  met  with  but  scanty  fulfilment  in 
the  deeds  of  our  manhood  ;  or  that  the  world  is  fixing  its  stain 
more  deeply  upon  our  character,  and  hardening  hearts  that  were 
once  tender  and  unselfish.  Often,  perhaps,  it  springs  from  the 
fact  that  the  hours  we  recall  and  the  scenes  we  review,  are  as- 
sociated with  those  who  are  gone  forever  from  the  earth.  It  is 
the  thought  that  there  are  hands  which  we  once  clasped,  which 
we  shall  clasp  no  more — that  there  are  lips  which  once  respond- 
ed to  our  words  of  cheer  and  good  will  which  are  now  mute — 
that  companionships  once  dear  are  forever  dissolved,  and  friend- 
ships buried  in  the  church  yard's  dust,  that  tinges  with  a  melan- 
choly hue,  all  our  recollections  of  those  who  entered  with  us  up- 
on the  dusty  and  beaten  paths  of  life.  One  thing  more  must 
sometimes  be  added,  throwing  still  darker  shadows  around  the 
picture,  and  deepening  the  sadness  in  our  hearts.  It  is  the  fact 
that  not  unfrequently  our  youthful  companions  made  disastrous 
shipwreck  of  character ;  sullied  quickly  their  fresh  fame  ;  gave 
their  high  hopes  and  generous  purposes  to  the  winds  ;  enslaved 
themselves  to  some  vicious  and  destructive  habit,  and  carried 
down,  it  may  be,  a  wasted  body  to  the  darkness  and  dishonour  of 
a  drunkard's  grave. 

I  recall  as  I  speak,  the  mournful  history  of  one  who  for  a 
time  promised  well,  and  describe  his  end  as  a  lesson  and  a  warn- 
ing, disclosing  his  frailties  only  so  far  as  to  make  the  lesson  im- 
pressive and  useful.  He  was  my  youthful  companion — my  col- 
lege classmate — my  associate  in  many  pleasant  scenes.  The  young- 
est of  the  class,  save  myself,  we  drew  closely  together,  and  for 
many  years  he  sat  upon  my  right  hand  at  all  recitations  and 
lectures.    I  remember  him  now  as  a  youth  of  fair  countenance, 


e 

and  slight  but  active  form,  with  an  eye  beaming  with  intelli- 
gence— a  high  spirited,  ardent,  generous  young  man.  Fluent  in 
speech,  and  singularly  graceful  in  attitude  and  gesture,  he  was 
acknowledged  to  be  the  best  speaker  of  the  class,  and  seemed 
destined  to  play  the  Orator  upon  the  broader  stage  of  Public  Life. 

Very  soon  our  paths  in  life  diverged,  and  we  parted  to  meet 
no  more  on  earth.  Of  the  various  professions  which  lie  before 
the  young  man,  he  chose  to  be  a  soldier,  and  when  I  next  heard 
of  him  he  was  a  cadet  in  the  National  Military  Academy.  A 
faint  rumour  came  also  that  an  insidious  habit  was  weaving  its 
chains  around  my  young  friend — a  rumour  I  was  very  willing  to 
disbelieve.  A  few  years  more,  and  I  read  his  name  among  the 
list  of  the  subordinate  officers  who  led  our  Army  in  its  march 
from  Vera  Cruz  to  the  city  of  Mexico.  In  that  march,  and  in 
all  the  sanguinary  battles  which  were  fought  during  its  course, 
he  approved  himself,  as  at  once,  a  skilful  officer,  and  a  gallant 
soldier.  Never  suspected  of  want  of  courage,  he  had  never 
been  guilty  of  the  idle  bravado,  which  some  seem  to  consider  the 
sign  of  courage,  and  it  was  with  amazement  that  his  brother  of- 
ficers beheld  him,  in  one  of  the  battles  fought  before  the  capi- 
tal was  reached,  darting  from  his  place,  and  spurring  his  horse 
right  between  the  contending  hosts,  ride  to  and  fro,  as  if  court- 
ing death,  or  defying  it.  A  thousand  voices  involuntarily  shout- 
ed to  him  to  come  back,  but  ere  the  shout  reached  his  ear,  the 
horse  and  his  rider  bit  the  dust.  His  companions  in  arms  heard 
his  last  faint  groan  as  they  swept  past  him  to  the  victorious  as- 
sault, but  it  was  not  untii  they  returned  to  gather  up  the  dead, 
that  they  discerned  the  reason  of  his  useless  courage.  The  half- 
emptied  flask  in  the  dead  man's  pocket  told  the  tale.  His  very 
daring  was  thus  shown  to  be  the  daring  of  the  fool.  The  brave- 
ry which  he  seemed  to  make  manifest,  was  seen  to  be,  not  the 
courage  of  the  collected,  self  controlled  man,  but  bravery  born 
of  the  brandy  bottle — the  courage,  not  of  one  prepared  to  meet 
death,  but  of  one  insanely  reckless  of  life.  They  gathered  up 
the  cold  remains,  and  brought  them  back  to  his  native  land  for 
burial.  And  when  his  friend,  and  his  father's  friends,  stood 
around  the  grave  which  they  opened  for  him  in  the  soil  which 
his  youthful  feet  had  often  pressed,  their  hearts,  sad  because  of 
his  early  death,  were  burdened  with  a  deeper  sadness  because 
the  grave  of  the  soldier,  was,  as  they  well  knew,  the  grave  of  the 
drunkard  too. 

But  this  case,  alas !  is  not  singular.  You  must  all  have 
siihilar  histories  which  you  can  now  recall,  some  it  may  be,  more 
dark  and  sad  than  this.  I  believe  that  I  may  safely  appeal  to 
you  all,  especially  to  those  of  mature  years,  to  confirm  my  words, 
when  I  say  that  one  of  the  chief  perils  of  the  young  man  is  the 
wine  cup.  I  say,  the  wTine  cup,  because  this  is  usually  the  be- 
ginning of  a  course  in  which  more  powerful  and  more  destructive 


7 


draughts  are  the  sad  aud  fatal  conclusion.  I  know,  too,  thai 
your  best  wishes  will  go  with  me  while  i  warn  young  men  of 
the  imminent  peril ;  and  exhort  them,  in  words  which  are  not  of 
man,  but  of  God,  to  ulook  not  upon  the  wine  when  it  is  red, 
when  it  giveth  his  colour  in  the  cup,  when  it  inoveth  itself  aright.' ' 
For  you  know  full  well,  from  the  histories  we  have  iwked  you  to 
recall  from  the  wrecks  you  have  seen  floating  upon  the  great  sea 
of  life,  as  well  as  from  the  word  of  the  omniscient  one,  that  "at 
the  last,  it  biteth  like  a  serpent,  and  stingeth  like  an  adder.'' 

The  text,  as  you  will  observe,  my  hearers,  is  an  exhortation, 
with  a  reason  annexed.  It  seems  to  concede  the  seductiveness 
of  the  wine  cup.  It  does  not  deny  that  it  is  pleasant  to  the  eye, 
and  pleasant  to  the  taste.  Even  when  the  exhortation  to  beware 
of  it,  is  most  direct  and  urgent,  the  language  it  uses  is  signifi- 
cant of  its  seductive  qualities.  It  is  when  it  giveth  its  colour 
to  the  cup  :  when  its  sparkle  and  hue  are  most  attractive  :  when 
it  moveth  itself  aright — then  we  are  bidden  to  turn  away  from 
it,  to  look  not  upon  it,  And  the  reason  annexed  is  no  ascetiek  s 
reason.  It  is  not  the  denial  of  its  present  pleasantness,  or  of  its 
exhilarating  influence.  The  reason  is  simply  the  end  to  which  it 
leads,  and  which  it  produces.  From  the  present  we  are  com- 
manded to  look  to  the  future.  It  is  just  as  if  the  author  of  the. 
Proverbs  had  written — Young  Man,  if  there  is  a  rosy  hue  w  ith 
in  the  cup — if  there  is  joy  and  mirthfulness  there — if  there 
exhileration  in  the  drajught,  and  a  pleasant  forgetfulness  of  sad- 
ness and  pain  there,  remember  the  end.  Be  assured  that  "at  the 
lost  it  biteth  like  a  serpent  and  stingeth  like  an  adder." 

We  intend  simply  to  illustrate  and  enforce  the  thought  of  the 
text.  We  believe  that  it  teaches  what  daily  experience  confirms, 
that  the  habit  of  drinking  is  to  every  man  who  forms  the  habit, 
in  the  end,  injurious:  to  many,. positively  destructive. 

Most  of  you  who  listen  to  me  this  evening,  are  either  already 
men  of  business,  or  preparing  to  become  so.  We  affirm  that 
the  text  is  true  of  such  men,  and  to  prove  it,  we  will  trace  out 
one  imaginary  history,  leaving  you  to  determine  whether  it  has 
ever  its  counterpart  in  real  life. 

A  Young  Man  starts  in  the  world,  we  will  assume,  with  a  fair 
character ;  with  habits  of  industry  ;  with  a  sufficient  amount  of 
energy,  and  with  a  competent  knowledge  of  the  rules  and  mys- 
teries of  trade.  He  solicits  men's  confidence,  and,  pointing  to 
an  unspotted  name,  and  to  industrious  habits,  claims  their  trust 
and  aid.  And  men  answer  his  claim  by  giving  him  their  con- 
fidence, and  by  placing  important  interests  in  his  hands.  Thus 
he  enters,  with  purposes  that  are  all  honest,  and  thoughts  which 
are  tainted  by  nothing  dishonourable  or  base,  upon  a  life  of  ac- 
tive business. 

Let  us  pass  over  a  few  years.  The  young  man  has  grown  more 
dexterous  in  his  calling.    He  is  better  prepared  to  conduct  a  large 


8 

and  extensive  trade.  He  has  a  wkler  acquaintance  with  men 
aAd  tilings,  and  has  standing  as  a  merchant  has  been  definitely 
ascertained  and  settled.  All  these  things  claim  for  him  increas- 
ed confidence,  and  should  strengthen  and  multiply  his  business 
relations.  But  a  rumour  has  slowly  been  gaining  currency — a  ru- 
mour which  men  reluctantly  breathe  to  each  other,  but  which 
<n*ows  more  distinct  as  it  passes  from  mouth  to  mouth — a  rumour 
that  the  young  merchant  loves  the  bar  room  better  than  his 
counting  room ;  that  the  wine  party  has  taken  time  which  should 
have  been  given  to  his  Ledger,  and  that  important  interests  have 
suffered  because  he  was  away  at  the  revel.  It  does  not  destroy 
his  business  at  once,  but  it  shakes  its  stability,  and  stops  its  rap- 
id growth.  He  is  not  stranded  yet,  but  the  breakers  whiten  the 
shore  along  which  he  is  skirting. 

Pass  over  another  series  of  years.  The  faint  rumor  has  be- 
come a  well  known  and  saddening  certainty.  The  end  foreseen 
and  foretold,  has  been  reached.  The  habits  which  seemed,  at 
first,  like  the  filaments  of  the  spiders  web,  woven  around  a  strong 
man,  have  now  become  fetters  of  iron,  clasped  around  unre- 
sisting weakness.  Failure  has  been  predicted,  and  has  come. — 
Distrust  succeeded  to  confidence.  Gradually  business  diminish- 
ed, until  the  very  men  who  helped  him  downward — who  drank 
and  revelled  with  him— withdraw  in  fear,  and  leave  him  to 
stand  if  he  can,  or  to  sink  if  he  must.  From  the  place  of  the 
principal,  he  descends  to  that  of  a  subordinate.  Here  awaken- 
ed suspicion  follows  him,  and  he  is  soon  found  unfit  to  be  a  trusty 
subordinate.  He  is  thrown  forth  upon  the  community  which 
once  trusted  him,  and  of  which  he  was  then,  an  honoured  and 
useful  member,  and  catches  despairingly  at  the  smallest  and  the 
meanest  occupations,  to  give  him  bread,  or  to  procure  the  ac- 
cursed poison  which  has  made  him  what  he  is.  Pitied  by  all 
good  men  :  wept  over  by  those  who  stand  near  to  him :  helped 
only  by  those  whose  hopes  concerning  him  are  not  altogether 
gone,  he  is  honoured,  trusted  and  employed  by  none*  The  re- 
membrance of  what  he  once  was,  and  the  perpetual  contrast 
with  what  he  now  is,  which  in  his  better  moments  he  cannot  re- 
frain from  making — the  k£en  sense  of  degradation,  which  can 
be  blunted  only  by  deeper  draughts  from  his  cups,  conjoin  to 
make  life  a  burden,  which  he  resolves  to  cast  away  as  fast  and 
as  soon  as  he  can.  He  has  reached  the  end,  my  hearers — the 
end  of  which  the  sparkling  wine  cup  was  the  beginning.  He 
has  made  the  grand  experiment,  and  he  has  found,  that  though 
it  was  pleasant  to  "look  upon  the  wine  when  it  was  red" — pleas- 
ant to  drain  the  goblet  amidst  the  gaiety  of  the  feast — pleasant 
to  meet  with  boon  companions,  and  chase  the  weary  hours  of 
night  away  with  song  and  mirth,  yet,  "at  the  last  it  biteth  like 
a  serpent,  and  stingeth  like  an  adder.* 


9 

Take,  as  another  iilual  rat  ion,  the  educated  liouftg  Man,  and 
let  us  view  the  effect  of  this  habit  upon  his  intellect. 

He  comes  from  the  place  of  his  pupilage  with  his  mind  awak- 
ened, quickened,  and  trained.  Perhaps  the  honours  of  the  Uni- 
versity are  resting  upon  him,  and  the  pride  of  his  parents  hearts 
has  been  stirred  by  the  news  that  their  boy  was  first  among  his 
youthful  fellows — the  finest  scholar  or  the  most  promising  speak- 
er of  his  class.  He  chooses  his  profession  and  sits  down  to  its  la- 
borius  study.  Dreaming  of  greatness,  or,  in  the  more  practi- 
cal spirit  of  our  age,  anticipating  the  golden  rewards  which  ac- 
company, and  to  many,  constitute  success,  he  works,  for  a  time, 
ardently  and  well.  The  difficulties  which  surrounded  the  maste- 
ry of  the  elementary  principles  of  his  science  begin  to  disappear, 
and  its  complete  and  harmonious  proportions  to  rise  upon  his 
view.  His  preceptor  prognosticates  his  future  eminence,  and 
looks  forward  to  the  time  when  his  old  age  shall  be  brightened 
by  the  reflection  of  his  pupils  fame. 

Soon,  however,  the  companions  of  early  youth,  from  whom  he 
has  been,  for  a  time,  separated,  gather  again  around  the  Young 
Man.  Some  have  fallen  :  others  are  falling ;  all  are  ignorant  of 
the  blandishments  of  vice  and  the  perils  of  life.  With  them 
he  meets  occasionally,  at  the  wine  party,  or  the  luxurious  supper. 
His  cultivated  mind  makes  him,  without  purpose  on  his  part  or 
theirs,  their  leader,  and  the  wine  cup  stimulates  the  wit,  which 
is  repaired  by  ready  applause.  And  thus  the  way  downward  is 
opened — a  way  smooth  and  easy,  and  surrounded  at  first  by  the 
tones  of  music  and  the  fragrance  of  flowers,  by  melody  and 
laughter  and  good  cheer. 

He  may  be  years,  my  hearers,  in  making  the  gradual  descent. 
He  may  enter  upon  the  duties  of  his  profession.  He  may  not 
be  seemingly  injured  as  to  his  prospects.  He  may  make  for 
himself  something  of  a  reputation.  But  if  he  walk  on  in  the 
course  which  he  has  begun,  his  potations  will  just  as  surely  ruin  his 
intellect,  as  they  will  destroy  his  body,  and  damn  his  soul.  His 
mind  will  come  at  last  to  work  only  under  the  influence  of  strong 
drink,  and  then  with  a  diseased  and  unregulated  force.  His 
quick  and  keen  perceptions  will  be  blunted ;  his  memory  refuse 
to  do  its  office ;  his  imagination  lose  its  vividness  and  brilliancy, 
and  even  his  speech  become  thick  and  ungovernable.  Business 
will  leave  him  for  more  sober  and  diligent  men,  and  the  poor 
man  linger  around  the  place  which  might  have  been  the  scene 
of  his  successes,  only  to  see  others  preferred  and  triumphant. — 
Descending  from  thence  he  may  become  the  oracle  of  some  bar 
room,  or  the  leader  of  a  band  of  noisy  politicians.  In  such 
places  and  among  such  men,  you  will  now  find  the  young  man 
who  was  once  of  brilliant  promise — who  once  aspired  to  great- 
ness and  seemed  destined  to  reach  it.  The  brilliancy  alas !  is 
clouded.   His  fine  wit  has  all  degenerated  into  vulgar  obsconitvv 


10 


The  fires  of  appetite  have  burned  into  his  bright  and  cultivated 
intellect,  and  physically,  mentally,  professionally,  he  is  a  wreck. 
A  daily  deepening  obscurity  hides  him  from  the  busy  world,  but 
as  he  sinks  into  it,  Oh !  think  you  not,  that  if  there  ever  come 
moments  of  sobriety — moments  when  he  can  bear  to  compare 
the  past  and  the  present,  that  he  feels,  and  feels  most  keenly, 
that  if  the  wine  cup  was  enchanting  at  the  first,  "at  the  last  it  bit- 
eth  like  a  serpent,  and  stingeth  like  an  adder." 

Is  it  needful  now  that  we  speak  of  the  effect  of  this  evil  habit 
upon  the  moral  part  of  the  man  ?  For  is  not  this  the  part  of 
the  man  on  which  the  habit  of  constant  drinking  does  its  mos- 
destructive  work  ?  When  business  habits  are  preserved  suffi- 
ciently at  the  least,  to  retain  the  confidence  of  the  customer — 
when  the  intellect  works  with  vigour  enough  to  meet  the  de- 
mands upon  it,  and  sometimes  with  a  fitful  energy,  astonishing 
to  those  who  know  how  much  has  been  done  to  weaken  its  pow- 
er and  dim  its  brilliancy,  does  not  the  moral  power  of  the  man 
constantly  diminish?  Is  he  not  every  day  less  ready  to  do  good, 
and  more  ready  to  do  evil  ?  Is  he  not  less  prepared  to  serve 
his  fellow  men?  Will  you  trust  the  drunkards  word  as  readily 
as  the  word  of  a  sober  man?  Will  you  commit  your*  property 
to  him  with  as  firm  a  reliance  upon  his  honesty  as  upon  the  hon- 
esty of  a  sober  man  ?  Will  you  put  him  without  reluctance,  into 
offices  of  profit  and  trust  ?  Does  not  every  one  feel,  that  while 
there  may  have  been  no  past  great  moral  delinquency,  yet  in  re- 
gard to  the  man  upon  whom  this  evil  habit  of  drinking  is  fasten- 
ing itself,  there  can  be  nothing  felt  but  dread,  and  that  to  lean 
upon  him  is  to  lean  upon  a  broken  reed  ?  Does  not  every  one 
stand  in  inward  fear,  lest  the  defences  weakened  by  long  indul- 
gence, should  suddenly  give  way,  and  a  strong  temptation  sweep 
tne  poor  man  away  from  his  anchorage — to  float  for  a  little  while 
upon  the  sea  of  Life,  a  helpless  and  hopeless  wreck,  and  sink  at 
last  in  the  dark  and  troubled  waters  ? 

But  some  one  of  you  may  say  to  us,  that  all  these  instances  of 
the  destructive  effects  of  the  wine  cup  are  merely  sketches  drawn 
by  the  imagination,  and  have  few  counterparts  in  real  life.  We 
would  that  this  were  so,  and  that  our  illustrations  had  no  exist- 
ence out  of  the  imagination  which  conceived  them.  We  would 
that  all  of  you,  reviewing  past  scenes,  and  recalling  past  associa- 
tions, could  discern  no  history  as  sad  as  those  we  have  pictured 
forth.  But  suffer  us  to  justify  ourselves  to  those  who  still  doubt 
by  one  example—one  illustration  borrowed  from  the  history  of 
our  own  times. 

It  is  a  good  maxim,  or  at  least  a  charitable  one  to  say  nothing 
of  the  dead  save  that  which  is  good.  But  some  names  (as  we 
have  elsewhere  said)  must  be  lifted  up  as  a  beacon.  The  moral 
world  must  have  its  light  houses.  Thousands  of  young  men  are 
running  down  upon  the  same  rocks,  on  which  brilliant  men,  and 


if 

men  of  renown  were  east  away.  If  the  light  of  their  genius 
then  has  made  them  conspicuous,  let  us  use  their  conspicnity,and 
throw  a  ray  from  them,  as  from  a  beacon,  far  out  upon  the  dim 
and  perilous  sea. 

"There  were  two  men,"  says  Macauley,  in  one  of  his  most 
admired  essays,  "who  lived  in  the  first  quarter  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  who,  before  the  time  when  men  are  usually  completing 
their  education,  had  reached  each  in  his  own  department,  the 
eummit  of  human  glory.  The  one  died  at  Longwood,  the  other 
at  Missolonghi."  Those  of  you  who  have  read  any  thing  of  the 
history  of  your  own  times,  will  remember  that  one  of  these  was 
Bonaparte,  the  other  Byron.  Of  the  latter,  it  is  now  well  known 
that  in  his  voluntary  exile,  he  shattered  his  splendid  intellect  (to 
borrow  the  words  of  the  essayist)  by  midnight  draughts  of  ar- 
dent spirits  and  Rhenish  wines.  There  is  much  ot  his  later 
poetry  which  smacks  rather  of  the  inspiration  of  gin,  than  of  the 
inspiration  of  genius.  But  what  we  wish  you  specially  to  ob- 
serve, is  how  literally  the  text  was  fulfilled  in  the  history  of  that 
great  but  unhappy  man.  He  "looked  upon  the  wine  when  it 
was  red,"  "when  it  gave  his  colour  in  the  cup."  He  used  his 
wonderful  genius  to  throw  fascination  around  the  intoxicating 
bowl.  Hear  but  two  strains  of  one  of  4ns  Bachanalian  songs, 
written  ere  he  had  seen  or  felt  aught  but  the  pleasures  of  wine. 

"Fill  the  goblet  again :  for  I  never  before 

Felt  the  glow  which  now  gladdens  my  heart  to  its  core. 

Let  us  drink — who  would  not  ?  since  through  life's  varied  round. 

In  the  goblet  alone  no  deception  is  found." 

"In  the  days  of  my  youth,  when  the  heart's  in  its  spring 
And  dreams  that  affection  can  never  take  wing, 
I  Had  friends,  who  has  not  ?  but  what  tongue  will  avow 
That  friends,  rosy  wine,  are  so  faithful  as  thou." 

But  ere  you  quote  those  words,  Young  Man,  as  true — ere  you 
believe  them,  turn  over  the  leaves  of  the  volume  to  the  last  page. 
Bead  the  poem,  dated  at  Missolonghi,  three  months  before  his 
untimely  death.   We  select  again  two  verses. 

"My  days  are  in  the  yellow  leaf, 
The  flowers  and  fruits  of  love  are  gone, 
The  worm,  the  canker,  and  the  grief 
Are  mine  alone." 

"The  fire  that  on  my  bosom  preys, 
rs  lone  as  some  volcanic  isle, 
No  torch  is  kindled  at  its  blaze — 
A  funeral  pile.', 

Was  there  no  deception  in  the  "goblet?"  Were  there  no 
friends  to  that  unhappy  man  so  true  as  the  "rosy  wine?"  Did 
he  not  feeWfeel  with  a  bitterness  which  few  could  realize,  be- 


ta 

cftuse  fear  oouid  feel  so  intensely — that  the  fruit  which  outward- 
ly looked  so  fair,  was  inwardly  ashes  and  dust,  and,  thnt  how- 
ever tempting  the  wine  cup  might  be  at  the  first — however  se- 
ductively it  might  give  its  ruby  colour  through  thegobiet  then, 
''at  the  last  it  biteth  like  a  sSfpeat,  and  stingeth  like  an  adder." 

Xow  here  is  a  peril  to  which  all  are  exposed.  To  some  it  is 
an  imminent  peril — to  others,  it  may  be,  a  peril  not  so  near  or 
so  threatening.  But  to  all,  especially  to  all  young  men,  there  is 
always,  danger  from  this  quarter.  This  danger  can  be  certain- 
lv  avoided  only  by  obedience  to  the  exhortation  of  the  text. — 
if  you  would  escape,  wholly  and  surely,  "look  not  upon  the  wine 
when  it  is  red."  I  do  not  say  that  one  draught  will  work  your, 
ruin,  or  that  one  glass  will  seal  your  fate.  -We  preach  no  ex- 
travagances upon  this  subject.  Tto  simply  say  that  there  is  no 
absolute  safety  for  you  this  side  the  most  entire  abstinence — no 
deliverance  certainly  to  be  counted  on,  but  in  implicit  obedience 
to  the  command  of  God,  which  enjoins  us  *;to  lookixot  upon  the 
wine  when  it  is  red." 

Or  if  your  standing,  my  youthful  hearer,  is  so  secure,  that 
you  may  venture  somewhat,  and  yet  not  fall — if  your  hand  is 
ko  strong,  and  your  eye  so  steady,  and  your  heart  so  brave,  that 
you  may  let  your  barl#drift  oarelessly  down  the  rapids  sure  that 
you  can,  at  your  will,  save  it  from  the  fearful  plunge  over  the 
cataract — oh  remember  those  who  are  weaker  and  more  sorely 
tempted.  If  you  need  not  act  for  yourself,  act  for  others.  In 
the  spirit  of  a  large  benevolence,  deny  yourself  the  tempting 
cup  that  others  may  be  strengthened  by  your  example,  to  resist 
also.  If  custom  bids  you  drink,  break  in  upon  the  custom.  If 
fashion  orders  it,  defy  her  power.  If  it  gleams  from  the  crys- 
tal bottles  upon  your  fathers  dining  table,  resist  its  fascination. 
If  the  drinking  usages  of  society  continue  to  be,  as  they  now 
are,  the  young  man's  greatest  tempters,  cast  off  their  trammels, 
and  pass  far  away  from  you  the  Circean  cup.  So  doing,  you 
may  save  yourself,  perhaps  a  brother,  from  that  which  uat  the 
last,  biteth  like  a  serpent,  and  stingeth  like  an  adder." 

You  will  not,  we  hope  consider  it  as  out  of  place,  if  we  add, 
in  conclusion,  that  in  addition  to  personal  abstinence,  there  does 
seem  to  be  a  call  upon  every  good  man  to  stand  in  his  place,  and 
endeavor  to  stem  the  flood  of  Intemperance  which  threatens  to 
sweep  over  the  land,  and  to  sweep  away  from  us  the  brightest 
and  best  of  its  sons.  I  would  that  this  call  might  ring  clearly 
and  loudly  upon  the  ear  of  every  young  man.  For  I  do  most 
firmly  believe,  that  if  those  who  in  the  course  of  the  next  ten 
years  shall  pass  from  the  age  of  twenty  to  the  age  of  thirty, 
would  only  bind  themselves  together  in  a  solemn  league  and 
covenant  against  the  mighty  evil,  the  crisis  which  now  impends 
would  be  past,  and  victory  be  with  the  cause  of  temperace  and 
goodness.   I  care  not  about  the  form  in  which  the  war  might 


be  Gamed  on.  You  may  employ  your  "Maine  laws,"  or  your 
"Carson  leagues"  if  you  please,  or  better  weapons  if  you  can 
devise  them.  But  what  we  mainly  want  is  effort,  the  effort  ot 
many  banded  hearts  and  hands — the  energy  supplied  by  the 
hopefulness,  the  activity,  the  irrepressible  ardour  of  the  young  man. 

Kor  do  we  suppose  that  when  you  have  done  all,  this  vice 
will'  no  more  be  seen,  and  the  drunkards  die  altogether  out  of 
the  land.  We  look  for  no  Such  result  until  the  millenium  begins 
to  dawn  upon  the  earth  .  Bat  your  determined  energy,  and  wise, 
well  tempered  zeal  may  banish  the  temptation  from  our  wharves 
and  public  places,  back  to  the  obscurity  in  which  it  ought  to 
dwell.  You  may  force  it  from  the  daylight,  into  corners  where 
the  drunkard  will  find  it  hard  to  get,  and  still  the  constable,  we 
hope,  find  it  easy  to  seize.  You  may  drive  it  out  into  secret 
places,  where  its  flaunting  signs,  will  be  hid  from  the  sight  of 
the  young  and  the  unwary,  and  where  none  who  values  reputa- 
tion or  respects  himself  will  go  to  hunt  it.  At  the  very  least, 
you  may  place  what  has  now  the  protection  of  the  Law,  under 
its  ban. 

To  this,  young  men,  many  voices  call  us.    Our  own  possible 
dangers — the  positive,  actual  dangers  of  others — -call  loudly  and 
urgently.    The  mother  calls  us,  beseeching  us   thai  he:  hild 
may  not  be  cast  away  upon  these  frightful  reef 
The  tair  bride  c? lis  us,  lest,  in  our  inactivity,  she  oec >rtle 

the'sorrowing  widow.  Our  country  calls  us,  trembling  for  the 
fate  of  many  of  her  sons.  Yea  Heaven  above  ns,  bids  us  be 
up,  and  be  brave,  and  active,  in  this  great  contest  between  the 
Right  and  the  Wrong. 

"For  deeper  than  thunder  of  summers  loud  showers, 
On  the  dome  of  the  sk)',  God  is  striking  the  hour 
Shall  we  falter  before  what  we've  prayed  for  so  long 
When  the  Wrong  is  so  weak,  and  the  Right  is  so  strong." 


N-°   ,    975'6  1841-59 

349894 


M-C  Pamphlets 


C       975.6       Z9S3  1841-59 

M»i,t'Vf      f,  >f  342394 


THIS  VOLUME  n^  rtoiMfl 


